Stirring Up Ghosts Indeed

I wasn't going to write a Memorial Day post, figuring there are far better writers out there who can commemorate the service of our veterans better than I.

For those who probably don't know, Memorial Day was once Decoration Day, originating just after the Civil War to honor those who had died in that conflict. 

Formal ceremonies began to be held, and soldiers' graves were decorated with flags and flowers.  And of course postcards were released for people to send to each 

Eventually Decoration Day became Memorial Day, and all deceased veterans of all wars were now being honored.  As was the practice of the time, postcards were issued for people to send holiday greetings, and even send notes describing the ceremonies in their town or city.

I'm not sure how many today send cards on Memorial Day.  I think it's rather lost its meaning to most people.  Memorial Day is now considered the official start of summer, and if there are parades I think people go to them for the spectacle, not for the true meaning.  And when there's news coverage of Memorial Day ceremonies at various veterans' memorials, it seems as if the numbers are decreasing as years go by.

I was reminded of Memorial Day's meaning when my cousin Nancy posted a photograph of an article published about my Uncle Henry Collette, her father.  Henry and a buddy had been responsible for capturing over 3800 German troops back in 1944 - yet no one in the family knew this, and I'm not sure how they found out.  Perhaps Henry had finally said something about it not long before dying.  I do know that the family, once they learned of this achievement, scurried to get the medals due him, including a Bronze Star that was pinned to his hospital johnny as he laid on his deathbed in May 1998.  He received a Silver Star after his death.

Uncle Henry wasn't the type of boast about achievements, unless they involved his children.  He was that kind of man, the typical guy who set about doing his duty to his family.  He and my Aunt Connie raised 7 children.  Aunt Connie died in 2011.

When Henry came home on leave, he of course posed for the obligatory family pictures, and this one is one I particularly like, just him alone.  Ramrod straight, of course.

My Uncle Noel Collette (my godparent along with his wife my Aunt Theresa) served in the Marines.  I know next to nothing about his service, though I think he was one of the Marines on Iwo Jima.

And my father Louis Collette, who just missed the actual war in Europe, was drafted out of his junior year in high school because the Armed Services were desperate for men.  He did in fact receive his high school diploma a year later (my grandfather Alfred picked it up for him) because of his studies in specialized schools, including radio schools, sharpshooting, and languages.

My dad served in Berlin as part of the Occupation Forces, and he was in the Intelligence Services, competing with the then OSS (now the CIA) for information and such.  He was in Berlin from 1945-1948 and it was there that he met my mother Gerda, marrying her after she came to the U.S. on January 1, 1949, one of the last war brides.  

My dad was full of stories of his exploits, and I sometimes wonder now how much of it was actually true.  Most veterans who see service don't talk about it.  Perhaps that applies to those who saw combat.  My dad saw a different kind of combat.

I imagine this photo was taken after Basic Training in 1944.  I don't know who the woman is, probably a cousin.

I know several other of my relatives of that generation saw service.  A cousin, Conrad Barsolou (spelling?) was killed in France or Luxembourg, and is buried in the great military cemetary in Luxembourg.  He was just 19, originally assigned to office work but was called to service in the Battle of the Bulge, again out of desperation to find men who could serve in combat.  Conrad was killed within days of arrival. 

And of course the wars continue and the dead soldiers mount, and more veterans are remembered on this day.  One wonders if it will ever end, but I think not.  There will be continually more men and women added to the rolls of fallen soldiers for hundreds of years to come.

That saddens me more than the memories of those already lost.  Stirring up ghosts, indeed.

later,
lin